As we that are left grow old
by dust on the wind
Summary: It's not the game; it's how you play it. An Anzac Day story.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_Anzac Day is commemorated each year on 25th April, the anniversary of the first landing by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps at Gallipoli in 1915._

* * *

Flowers had been laid at the base of the ancient granite milestone which stood, long forgotten, among the trees. On one side, a small group of men stood at attention: the New Zealanders, Foster, Davies and Lucas; MacDonald, the big Australian; Colonel Hogan's men, all four of them unusually silent and grave. Hogan, with Lieutenant Wentworth on his right, stood in front of the improvised memorial.

Wentworth looked at Lucas, and nodded in encouragement. The kid was just twenty-three; too young to have to bear the load of loss and grief which had been placed on him. He stepped forward, and began the recitation which was an essential element of this occasion.

_They shall grow not old..._

His voice, shaky to start with, failed completely, and the only sound was the dawn chorus of the forest birds. Everyone waited for him to regain his composure, but he seemed beyond it. Hogan could sense Wentworth was getting restless, but before the lieutenant could take over from Lucas, Carter broke rank, and came forward. Yet he didn't take up the verse. Probably he didn't know it, anyway.

"Come on, Jamie," he said quietly. "You can do it."

Carter had been the only one at hand, when the news of Lucas's brother had arrived, ten days earlier. Lucas was fairly new, one of only three New Zealanders currently at Stalag 13, and the only one allocated to Barracks 2. The Kommandant, Colonel Klink, preferred to keep his antipodean prisoners scattered, if he had to keep them at all. He still had nightmares over what had happened two years ago after the Anzac Day memorial service. So the New Zealanders, and the two Australians, were separated as widely as possible.

Although Colonel Hogan had not arrived at Stalag 13 until some time after that memorable April day, he had heard about it from those who had been present. Not that Newkirk's exposition had been particularly helpful; rather, it was a masterpiece in generalisation.

"The thing about your Australians, Colonel," he had explained, "is that they're nearly all descended from convicts. Now, I'm not saying we should hold that against them. We've all got a few bad apples hanging off the family tree. But the Aussies are so bleedin' proud of theirs. The Kiwis, on the other hand, aren't descended from convicts at all, so you'd think they'd be less trouble. But most of them seem to have a chip on their shoulder, mainly about the Australians as far as I can tell. So when the whole lot get a bit emotional, well, things happen, don't they?"

LeBeau had described the incident in more detail, but very succinctly. "They made their own alcohol, got drunk on it, the Australians started up that ridiculous two-up game of theirs, then got into a fight with the New Zealanders over the rules. Everyone else got dragged in, and the next thing we knew, there was a riot in the compound. We were lucky nobody was shot."

"My old man used to say, two Aussies and you've got an argument," Newkirk added. "Three, and you've got a two-up school. _And_ an argument."

The following year, Klink had refused permission for any kind of Anzac Day observance. That had upset all of the men from both countries; there had been a dozen or so at that time, and they had made their own arrangements. It had ended badly. Hogan was determined this year would see no repeat performance, so early in April, when Lieutenant Wentworth approached him, requesting he speak to the Kommandant about it, he wasn't particularly encouraging.

"Look, Wentworth, as it happens, I know what the whole event is supposed to be about," he said, "and it's not meant to include the show we got last year. Or the year before. You know what the set-up is here. We don't need that kind of trouble, it upsets the Krauts, and that upsets our schedule."

"Perhaps we could just hold the service of remembrance, sir," Wentworth suggested. "It's usually the two-up game afterwards that leads to trouble."

Hogan regarded him cynically. Wentworth came from Melbourne, and seemed more cultured than some Australians Hogan had met; but it was Wentworth who had marked observance of the previous year's Anzac Day by breaking Sergeant Foster's jaw. That didn't inspire a lot of confidence in his ability to keep things civilised. "I'll think about it," said Hogan. Meaning, of course, the answer was "no".

That was where the matter rested, until they heard about Lucas's brother.

It was bad luck that the news had to arrive on a busy evening. Hogan and Newkirk had left straight after roll-call, to set up the first phase of the night's operation. LeBeau and Carter were to meet them at the target later, and they had just started getting ready when the warning came from the man watching at the door: "Schultz is coming."

LeBeau, already half-dressed for his outing, retired precipitantly behind a line of washing which was strung between two of the bunks. Carter had only got as far as removing his jacket, and stood with it in his hand.

"Evening, Schultz," he said, a little too brightly.

Schultz did not return the greeting. He looked preoccupied; troubled, in fact. "Where is Colonel Hogan?" he asked, coming right to the point.

"He's busy right now, Schultz," said Kinch. "Can't be disturbed."

"He will have to be disturbed," replied Schultz. "Kommandant Klink wishes to speak to Lucas in his office at once, and he said Colonel Hogan must come as well."

Lucas looked startled. He was a quiet, reserved young man from Dunedin, seemingly bent on rehabilitating the reputation of his fellow Kiwis by causing no trouble at all. It surprised everyone that he should be called to face the Kommandant.

"Well, I'm sorry, Schultz," said Kinch, inventing an excuse on the spot, "but the Colonel is with Newkirk, giving him a counselling session about his gambling problem. He said they were not under any circumstances to be interrupted. Can it wait?"

Schultz sighed, and looked at Lucas with a strangely melancholy expression. "No, it cannot wait. The next most senior officer in the barracks, after Colonel Hogan, must go in his place."

"That'd be Carter," said Kinch. "Go on," he added, in an undertone, as Carter began to protest. "It's okay. I'll go with LeBeau."

Carter was never quite comfortable with the responsibilities of rank, and he looked worried now, knowing if Lucas was in some kind of trouble, he'd need someone more quick-witted at his back. But with Hogan absent, he had no choice, so he put his jacket back on, and followed Schultz and Lucas out of the barracks and across the compound to the Kommandant's office. He expected trouble with Klink over Hogan's non-appearance, but the Kommandant seemed almost oblivious to the substitution.

"At ease, Carter, Lucas," he said. "Schultz - dismissed." Then he sat back, fidgeting. He moved some papers across his desk, straightened the ink-stand, then folded his hands on the blotter, and looked up. "Lucas, you have a brother, Flight Sergeant Christopher Lucas, a prisoner of war at Stalag 17." He stopped, and his gaze switched to Carter, who started to feel a sinking sensation in his stomach. As a rule, he wasn't particularly quick on the uptake, but something in Klink's manner made it clear to him what was coming.

Lucas, aware of the tension but not of the cause, glanced at Carter for reassurance before replying. "That's right, Kommandant," he said hesitantly.

Klink cleared his throat. "Corporal, I have to...I regret to inform you that your brother died yesterday of pneumonia." He fell silent again, and looked down at his hands. He was not by nature a compassionate man, but nor was he completely without feeling. It was obvious he hated having to do this.

Lucas stared at him, confused at first; then, as he absorbed what Klink had said, his eyes lost focus. He shook his head, and took a step back. "No," he said, more in surprise than grief. Carter, afraid he would fall, took his arm.

"Okay, Lucas," he said. "It's okay." He hated himself immediately for the choice of word; okay was the last thing it was. "I'm sorry, Jamie," he added, unaware he'd used Lucas's first name.

It never occurred to Carter to seek Klink's permission before guiding Lucas to a chair. The Kommandant was watching, apparently unsure of what to do. Carter eyed him with deep reproach. "He already lost one brother," he said, and Klink looked embarrassed, and got up to fetch a glass of brandy.

Lucas refused it at first. "You better have it, Jamie," said Carter. Then, as soon as the dose had gone down, he turned to Klink. "Kommandant, I think I should take him back to the barracks now."

"Yes, of course. Tell Colonel Hogan the lights-out rule will be waived for tonight, in case Lucas needs to talk, or...or anything," said Klink, miserably aware he was out of his depth.

Carter didn't even think to salute before taking Lucas, who was still dazed, out of the office and back across the compound. He felt almost as helpless as the Kommandant, and he hoped desperately that Kinch was still in the barracks. Kinch would know what to do. But when they got there, Kinch and LeBeau had already left. Carter hesitated, trying to work out the best way to deal with this. He could see, from the looks exchanged among the other men around the barracks, that they knew something was wrong, and he wasn't sure Lucas was ready just yet for any mass display of sympathy. Hoping he was doing right, he took Lucas into Hogan's private quarters, and closed the door.

The sabotage party did not return until the early hours of the morning. Hogan was first up the ladder into the barracks. The information Kinch had brought had made him uneasy. A first glance around seemed to indicate everything was normal, but then he realised that, although the barracks lay in darkness, there was light showing between the poorly-fitted planks of the door into his own quarters. He checked Lucas's bunk; it was empty.

"Carter's not here, sir," said Newkirk. Although he kept his voice down, some of the sleeping men stirred. Olsen turned over, and raised his head.

"Carter's in there, with Lucas," he said, nodding towards the colonel's quarters. "I think Lucas got bad news, Colonel. He looked pretty punchy when they got back from seeing Klink, and Carter took him straight in there."

There was a startled murmur from behind Hogan, but he couldn't tell who it was. Without turning his head, he said, "Okay, hit the sack, all of you." He didn't look to see if his order was obeyed, but went straight to the door of his office.

Inside he found Carter sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, where Lucas had fallen asleep. Carter greeted his arrival with relief, though very quietly.

"He's just gone off half an hour ago," he whispered. "I'm sorry for bringing him in here, sir. I didn't know what else to do. His brother died, Colonel."

"Didn't he already have one brother killed?"

"Yes, sir, at Monte Cassino, in February. And now the other one's died of pneumonia, at Stalag 17. Lucas didn't even know he was sick. I don't think he believes it yet. Boy, if I heard that something had happened to my brother...gee, Colonel, I can't even think about it. I couldn't take it."

Hogan nodded in agreement. They all knew what it was like to lose someone, but a double blow was hard to take, and Lucas was just a kid. "Okay, Carter. You did right. Go get some sleep."

Lucas made it to morning roll-call. He looked tired, and Hogan kept a close watch on him, but he was keeping his emotions under control; perhaps more than he should.

Word had got around, as it always did, and Sergeant Foster, who was the senior ranked officer among the New Zealanders, presented himself at Barracks 2 not long after assembly. He was a stocky little man with a tough manner and a coarse vocabulary; good in a fight, but ill equipped to comfort the bereaved, and it was a relief to everyone when he left. Lucas hadn't said much to him, or in fact to anyone. Most of the men, after saying a few awkward words, left him alone.

By the next day the matter was already slipping into the background, not intentionally, but because every man had his own concerns and preoccupations, and because Lucas seemed to avoid any demonstration of condolence. That wasn't unusual; many of them, under similar circumstances, preferred to keep their grief to themselves, and their comrades respected that. Even Colonel Hogan allowed his attention to be diverted; he had other responsibilities, things to do, secrets to steal, trains to derail.

And it was while returning from a train derailment, three nights later, that Newkirk and LeBeau met Lucas where he ought not to have been; in the woods, halfway to Hammelburg.

LeBeau spotted him first, but he didn't realise immediately that it was one of their own men. Although they had a regular procedure for processing through-travellers, stray escapees occasionally turned up without advance warning, and had to be dealt with on an _ad hoc_ basis. LeBeau, having become aware of the fugitive, jabbed Newkirk in the ribs. "We've got an uninvited guest," he murmured.

Newkirk tutted crossly. "I wish they'd remember to call first," he said. "How do they expect us to have the sheets aired for them, if they don't book ahead?" He gave a low whistle. The man almost jumped out of his skin, and turned to look in their direction.

"_Mais - c'est Lucas_," whispered LeBeau.

Newkirk's eyes narrowed. "You're right." He emerged from cover. "What the hell are you doing out here?" he demanded, in a low, furious voice.

Lucas took a step back. He was always a little nervous of Newkirk, whose sardonic wit and cocky ebullience disconcerted even older and more confident men. "I'm trying to get home," he replied sullenly.

"What, now? Tonight? Well, I hope you weren't planning to go by train," Newkirk said, "because it might be running late." His tone was particularly cutting, and Lucas flushed.

"Lucas, are you crazy?" LeBeau put in. "We just wrecked the mail train. The whole area will be lousy with Krauts within half an hour. You want to get shot?"

"Blimey, you've got no idea, have you?" said Newkirk. "You can't just wander off whenever you feel like it. This isn't a holiday camp."

Lucas moved away a little. "If I want to escape, it's my business. Not yours."

"It's everyone's business. Stalag 13 isn't just any old prisoner of war camp, you know. One unplanned escape, and our whole operation's down the drain. It's not just you that ends up shot, it's the whole bloody lot of us."

The boy hesitated; clearly, he hadn't thought it through. "He's right, Lucas," said LeBeau. "If you must escape, we have a safe route."

"It won't get you home," Newkirk added. "Just back to London, and then to your squadron. But at least you'll get there in one piece, which is probably better than you deserve. Now, we're heading back, before some patrol starts shooting at us. And you're coming with us. No, not one word out of you, Lucas. Get moving."

In the face of his anger, Lucas gave in, and the three men made their way back via the emergency tunnel. They found Hogan and Kinch in the radio room. Newkirk, still close to boiling point, stalked straight past, but LeBeau jerked a thumb towards the New Zealander. "Found him in the woods," he said.

Hogan regarded Lucas with the air of a man who didn't like surprises. "Just out for a stroll, Lucas?" The kid hung his head, and didn't reply. "Corporal," Hogan went on, "I think we need to have a little chat."

* * *

_Notes:_

_Anzac Day was observed in at least some POW camps during the Second World War. A description of Anzac Day 1944 at Stalag 383 (Hohenfels) is to be found at the Pegasus Archive._

_The game of two-up, in which bets are laid on the results of a multiple coin toss, was very popular among Australian soldiers during the first World War; it's still traditionally played on Anzac Day. _

_The 2nd New Zealand Division was deployed at Monte Cassino, south of Rome, from early February, 1944._


	2. Chapter 2

All things considered, Hogan let Lucas off fairly lightly, but the young man was very subdued the following morning, and avoided meeting Newkirk's eye.

Early afternoon found Kinch, who had put in a long night in the radio room, relaxing on the low bench which stood along the barracks wall, taking advantage of the pale spring sunshine. Carter, perched nearby on an upturned wooden box, was playing cat's cradle, but not giving it his full attention. He looked up with a smile as Lucas came around the end of the barracks.

"Hey, how's it going, Jamie?" he said.

Lucas gave him a rueful grin, but didn't say anything. Kinch shuffled along the bench to make room, and Lucas, after a momentary hesitation, sat down with an unconscious sigh. None of them spoke for a few minutes, then Kinch, who had seemed to be drowsing, said, "You okay, Lucas?"

"Yeah, I suppose," replied Lucas. "It was pretty stupid of me, but, wasn't it?"

Carter frowned in concentration, studying the tangle of string between his fingers. "Yeah, maybe. But I guess everyone feels like making a run for it, now and then. It's tough, sometimes." He shook the string loose, and started again. "Colonel Hogan say much?"

"Not as much as Newkirk did." Lucas reddened, and bit his lip. "He nearly skinned me alive."

"Newkirk doesn't pull any punches, once he loses his cool," said Kinch. "Doesn't mean he doesn't get it. He does, Lucas. Probably more than anyone."

Lucas gave him a skeptical look. Kinch put his head back against the wall, and took a deep breath. This kid needed to be set straight about a few things.

"Lucas, every morning Newkirk's first waking thought is, _where did the bombs hit last night?_ He's had four years of it. Four solid years. Just think about that. He's lost close family, he's lost close friends, and he knows any day, he could lose someone else, someone who really matters. His mother, or his sister. You've got some idea now, but most of us can't even begin to imagine what that must be like."

"Sometimes, when he gets a letter from home, he goes real quiet for a couple of days," said Carter. "He doesn't say anything, not any more, but everybody knows. Only there's nothing we can do for him."

Kinch glanced at him with a half-smile. "Maybe one thing, Andrew. I've noticed that's when you always manage to do something especially dumb."

Carter blushed, as embarrassed as if he'd been caught stealing. "It takes his mind off it, I guess." After a moment of quiet thought, he added, "It's worse for LeBeau. At least Newkirk knows."

Lucas glanced at him, puzzled, but it was Kinch who explained. "LeBeau had an uncle - _has_ an uncle."

"Had, Kinch," said Carter. "It's 'had'. It must be."

Kinch nodded slowly. "We knew that Marcel, and his wife and daughter, were working with the French resistance. The daughter, Mélanie, used to write to Louis regularly. One day the letters stopped coming. Chances are the Gestapo caught up with them. So, interrogation, maybe under torture, then they would have been shot, or hanged, without trial. But there's no way to find out for sure. He may never know what happened to them. And they're not the only ones. He's lost contact with at least half a dozen others, since he's been here, and no explanation, not ever. That's what he lives with, every day."

After a moment, Kinch went on. "Jamie, it's natural, and it's right, that you should be grieving. You need to do that. But don't think nobody understands. There's not a man in this camp that doesn't understand."

Lucas tried to answer, failed, and attempted a smile instead, and Kinch leaned back against the wall again.

Before the silence got awkward, Carter changed the subject. "Hey, Lucas, what's this two-up game you guys all go on about, anyway?"

Shortly before roll-call, Colonel Hogan received two visitors; and so unusual was it to see Sergeants MacDonald and Foster in the same place, at the same time, without a brawl starting, that it took him a couple of minutes to get over it and start paying attention to them.

"We're a deputation, sir," said MacDonald, who in spite of being a third-generation Queenslander, still spoke with a slightly Scots inflection. Standing next to little Foster, he seemed enormous, but everyone knew Foster could lay him out cold without raising a sweat.

"We know Lieutenant Wentworth spoke to you about Anzac Day," MacDonald went on, "and we thought if we gave you our word there wouldn't be any trouble..."

Foster took up the argument. "It's a very important day for us, Colonel. I know some of us got a bit carried away last year..."

"And the year before," Hogan interrupted. "Let's not forget that one."

Foster and MacDonald exchanged glances. Then Foster tried again. "Sir, the important part is the service. The rest of it is just...well, we have to let off steam sometimes. You know how it is, Colonel."

"You can ask anyone who was here two years ago about the service," MacDonald added. "It went without a hitch. It's a solemn occasion, and we treat it with respect, as a matter of national honour." He looked at Foster, and added, "Things got a bit lively later in the day, but that was because of...look, we can skip the usual celebrations afterwards, if you think it's better."

Then, as Hogan continued to look cynical, Foster spoke again. "There's another thing, Colonel. It's about Lucas. We think maybe it'll help."

He trailed off, embarrassed, and the more articulate MacDonald took up the argument. "Both his brothers died in service. That's what the day's for, sir. It's for remembrance, and for honouring the men who gave everything for their country. Men and women," he added. His voice dropped just slightly. The girl he had intended to marry after the war, a nurse, had been on a hospital ship which had been torpedoed the previous May. He never spoke of it.

"Okay," Hogan said, after deliberating. "I'll talk to Wentworth, and then I'll see Klink in the morning. But I can't promise."

He already guessed how the Kommandant would respond to the request, and he was not mistaken. "Hogan, are you out of your mind? Request denied."

"See, that's why we love you, sir. You always keep an open mind," said Hogan.

"No, Hogan. Not in this camp. Not again. Have you forgotten what happened last year?"

"That was just a one-off."

"And what about the year before?"

"Okay, maybe a two-off. But they've promised to behave themselves this year. Third time's the charm, Kommandant."

The Kommandant glared at him. "Hogan, there is not going to be a third time. I am already considering sending every one of those men to the cooler for the entire week, just to be on the safe side. If they were all to escape tonight, I wouldn't lift a finger to find them."

"Well, gee, sir, I wish you'd told me that before. You wouldn't believe the number of escapes that have been cancelled for fear of pursuit, and to think all we had to do was start a riot...! I'll notify the escape committee at once. With any luck we can schedule a mass uprising before lunch." For the life of him, Hogan couldn't help himself. Even though it was no more than he'd expected, it annoyed him when Klink put his foot down right where Hogan didn't want him to.

"Not a chance," he advised Wentworth, who was waiting outside for the verdict. "You guys got him so worked up with what happened the last two years, he's not risking it again."

"I rather expected it," said Wentworth. "I suppose he can't stop us from holding private observance, though."

"I wouldn't bet on it. He's talking of throwing all of you in the cooler. So don't give him any excuses." Hogan glanced back at the Kommandant's office. "Who does he think is running this camp, anyway?" he muttered. "Leave it with me, Wentworth. I'll think of something."

He was still thinking about it by late afternoon, and had got nowhere, except for the wild, unlikely idea that any ceremony should be held away from Stalag 13. Given that Klink, terrified of any disturbance, would be watching them like a hawk, getting out of camp was going to be difficult.

Hogan had reached the point where his thoughts were going in circles, and to clear his head he went for a walk around the camp. The weather continued fine, and the men were making the most of it, doing laundry, airing bedding, playing ball, or just sitting around. Outside Barracks 12, the third of the New Zealanders, Corporal Davies, was cleaning a pair of boots. Hogan strolled across and leaned against the barracks wall.

"You sure those boots are worth the trouble?" he said casually.

Davies didn't look up. "With any luck the dubbin will hold 'em together, if I use enough of it." He put down the first boot, and started on the second. "I hear from Lieutenant Wentworth that Anzac Day's not looking likely."

"I haven't given up yet," replied Hogan. "But you guys sure haven't made it easy."

"Not all of us, Colonel. You can't put the blame on young Lucas; he wasn't even here. And you can't lay it on Wentworth either."

Hogan laughed quietly. "Wasn't it Wentworth that put Foster in hospital last year?"

"Can't fault him for it, Colonel," said Davies calmly. "Foster and MacDonald started it. Something to do with two-up - don't ask me, I've got no idea. Now, MacDonald's a big bloke, but he fights like a vicar's wife, and Foster bloody near killed him. Wentworth tried to break it up, and things got out of hand. Same as the year before."

"You saying it was Foster and MacDonald then, too?"

"It began with them. They just don't like each other, Colonel," said Davies. "It's got nothing to do with the day. Nothing to do with the game, either. A game's just a game. It's how it's played that matters."

Hogan shrugged. "The trouble is how you played it the last two years, Davies. If I had more time, I could talk Klink around, but we've only got a couple of days."

Davies had finished the second boot, and sat absently wiping the dubbin off his hands onto the leg of his trousers. "Colonel, the Kommandant can say or do what he likes. We'll be having that ceremony, one way or another."

"Take it easy, Davies," said Hogan. "I'm trying to figure a way to do it. I've even considered taking you all out of camp for the occasion. But we've got to do it without Klink noticing, and he'll be watching all of you, all day."

They both fell silent for a minute, then Davies spoke. "I don't know if this will work, sir. But it's quite usual, on Anzac Day, to hold a dawn service..."

_Note: The Australian hospital ship AHS Centaur was torpedoed by a Japanese __submarine on 14th May, 1943._


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Colonel?" said Newkirk. "After all, they do have form for creating a public nuisance."

He was not the only one who seemed dubious. Kinch and Carter both looked worried, while LeBeau was staring at Hogan as if he had suggested inviting Himmler over for afternoon tea.

"They've promised to behave themselves," said Hogan. "And there are only five of them. How much trouble can they cause?"

"That depends. How much trouble do you need?" asked Kinch dryly.

"Yeah, there's only five of us, and we manage pretty good," added Carter.

"That's different," replied Hogan. "We do it on purpose."

"As opposed to just having a natural inclination for it," said Newkirk. "I'm telling you, sir, it'll end in a row. And Klink'll do his nut."

"Klink doesn't have to know. We get them out before dawn, they're back before roll-call. What could go wrong?"

"A patrol could spot them," said Kinch. "Klink could order a surprise bed check. Or Foster and MacDonald could start something while they're out there. And we all know how Wentworth dealt with it the last time."

"Young Lucas might even try to do a runner again," added Newkirk.

"He won't," said Carter.

"Are you sure of that, Andrew?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He's okay. All those guys are okay. But that doesn't mean I think it's a good idea."

"Okay, those are good points." Hogan cut the discussion short. "But from what Wentworth and Davies said, chances are they're going ahead with the service, with or without Klink's permission. The last thing we need right now, with everything we've got going on for the next few weeks, is for the Krauts to get stirred up. So the best way to limit the damage is to make sure it goes ahead, but on our terms. Right?"

"Right, Colonel," said Kinch reluctantly, and Carter, after a moment's hesitation, nodded.

Hogan turned to Newkirk and LeBeau. They were the only ones in his team who had been at Stalag 13 two years ago, when the day had gone really badly, and he sensed they were the ones most firmly opposed to the idea. If he couldn't convince them, then the whole thing would be much more difficult.

Newkirk, frowning deeply, reasoned it through, then shrugged. If he didn't actually voice agreement, at least he wasn't arguing. LeBeau took longer to decide. He hadn't taken part in the discussion, but appeared to be following his own train of thought. Finally he looked up. "I agree, _mon Colonel_," he said quietly.

"Good. Now, we don't have a lot of time to get organised. The 25th is the day after tomorrow. LeBeau, Newkirk, you know the woods better than anyone. Where's a suitable place for a remembrance service?"

"Near rendezvous point X3," said LeBeau, after considering. "There must have been an old road there once, but it's almost disappeared now. There's even an old milestone. The inscription has worn off, but from the look of it I think it's probably Roman." Then, at the look he got from Newkirk, he added, "I dated an archaeologist once."

"Of course you did," replied Newkirk. "I might have guessed. All the same, he's right, Colonel. I know the place. Nice bit of level ground, well away from the main road, and the patrols don't go that far, so there's not much risk."

"Okay, you two go out through the emergency tunnel after roll-call, and make sure the place isn't too overgrown. Yeah, I know it's daylight," he added quickly, as Newkirk started to protest. "You'll just have to be careful. We'll need some flowers as well, for the wreath-laying. Carter, you can see to that. Whatever you can get - if there's no wild flowers around, then raid Klink's garden."

Carter's lack of enthusiasm was plain. "Why do I have to get the flowers?"

"Some people just have the knack for it, Carter," said Hogan. "Kinch, you come with me," he said. "I want to talk to Wentworth, and find out what else is involved."

Wentworth had already worked out a simple order of service, as it turned out. "We know we can't have the flag party," he said. "It can't be done. The rest of it is pretty straightforward, apart from the Last Post. We tried singing it last year, but it didn't exactly go well. Foster's tone-deaf, it threw everyone off."

Hogan and Kinch looked at each other. "You want a bugle call? In the woods, at dawn?" said Hogan slowly.

"We can't do without the Last Post," Wentworth replied.

"It's not possible. Apart from the risk, we don't have a bugler anywhere in camp," said Kinch. "We've got trumpet players, but no trumpets. Just a lot of harmonicas."

The three of them pondered in silence for a moment, then Wentworth spoke again. "Well, I suppose we'll have to improvise. After all, it's what the men would have had for music at Gallipoli. Davies is not a bad harmonica player."

"Tell him to start practising," said Hogan.

So far things were going well. It couldn't last.

They made it through that day. Davies, slightly staggered at the suggestion he should provide the bugle calls, settled down to some serious practice, to the annoyance of his barracks mates. Wentworth was completely immersed in getting the order of service settled, cutting everything except the barest essentials. The two most likely to behave badly, Foster and MacDonald, had adopted an attitude so meek, and were so scrupulously civil to each other, it should have roused the Kommandant's suspicion at once. But Klink, relieved by the level of tranquillity throughout the camp, assumed his edict had been accepted, and didn't query their unnatural good conduct.

Nobody expected Lucas to be the one who caused the disruption.

There was a new guard in camp, a man with a malicious tongue and a hectoring manner. He had a name already for passing snide little undervoice comments which got under the skin and festered. Most of the prisoners, accustomed to dealing with men of his type, had learned very quickly to ignore him. But Lucas was still in a vulnerable state, and when Schaffner, at the following morning's roll-call, murmured some spiteful remark about his brother, it was more than he could bear. As the guard turned away, Lucas went for him, and sent him sprawling.

LeBeau reacted swiftly. He grabbed Lucas and dragged him away, shoving him back into the second row between Carter and Kinch, while Newkirk stepped in front of them to cover the movement. The other guards, rifles at the ready, came running, and Hogan moved forward, preparing to intervene. Schultz was ready, too; he turned to face the other guards, holding both hands out as if to ward them off.

The Kommandant had just come out of his office. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

"Just a misunderstanding, Kommandant," said Hogan.

Schaffner, regaining his feet, looked furious. "_Herr Kommandant_, one of these men attacked me," he spluttered.

"Yeah, it's a fair cop. I can't deny it," said Newkirk coolly. Hogan shot him a warning look, which he ignored. From behind, Lucas started to speak, but broke off as Carter gave him a nudge.

Klink glared at Newkirk. "You assaulted one of my guards?"

"He said something I didn't like," replied Newkirk, regarding Schaffner with contempt.

"Do you have any idea what the penalty is for this, Newkirk?" said the Kommandant.

Newkirk shrugged, and looked off into the distance.

"Kommandant, I have to point out..." Hogan began; but he was interrupted. There was a short scuffle in the back row, before Lucas broke away from Carter's grip, and stumbled forward.

"It wasn't Newkirk," he said unsteadily. "It was me."

Klink looked from one man to the other, then turned to Schultz. "Bring both of them to my office," he said. "I'll soon get to the bottom of this."

As Schultz beckoned the two forward, LeBeau tagged on. "Perhaps I should come too, Schultz," he said. "It was actually me that did it."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "If that isn't you all over, LeBeau. Always trying to get in on the limelight. Nobody's going to fall for it, you know."

"Yeah, like you can talk, Newkirk," Carter put in resentfully. "Colonel, it's not fair. Tell those guys to quit it. I did it, not them."

The other men were catching on, and a clamour broke out, as every inmate of Barracks 2 put his claim forward. Schultz stood in a daze, unable to make out a word of it, while the Kommandant waved his hands, stamped his feet and called ineffectively for silence. It was clearly time for Hogan to take charge.

"Okay, cut it out," he said. It was hardly necessary for him to raise his voice at all. As soon as quiet was restored, he went on. "Now, while I commend you all for your loyalty, I'm afraid I can't allow you to cover for one man's indiscretion. The guilty party must bear the punishment himself, and not spread it among his fellow prisoners. Kommandant, I hope you'll be lenient."

"There can be no leniency in a case like this, Hogan," replied Klink fretfully.

Hogan nodded, with the little sideways tilt of the head which usually meant mischief. "I understand, Kommandant. But please, go easy on me. It was a moment of madness. I'll never do it again."

"Bloody officers," muttered Newkirk, just above _sotto voce_. "Let us do the work, and then take all the credit. Typical." A hubbub of agreement arose from the others.

"Quiet!" shouted the Kommandant. As the prisoners fell silent again, he turned to Schaffner. "Which one was it?" he demanded.

Schaffner pointed to Lucas. "I think it was that man, _Herr Kommandant_."

"Sir, with respect, Schaffner had his back turned," Hogan put in. "He couldn't possibly know who it was."

"That is true, _Herr Kommandant_," said Schultz.

"Did you see who did it?" Klink asked him.

"No. I saw nothing," said Schultz stolidly. Hogan suppressed a smile. He'd have to do something really nice for Schultz in the next few days.

Klink wavered, reluctant to impose any severe penalty on Lucas at such a time, unsure whether Lucas was even the culprit, but not willing to overlook such an outrageous breach of discipline. "Very well," he said at last. "Until the guilty man confesses - and everyone else does not - all prisoners in Barracks 2 will forfeit their privileges, and remain confined to barracks. Dismissed."

Lucas was scarlet with embarrassment and distress, as the prisoners filed back into the barracks. He retired to his bunk, waiting for the earful he was anticipating from Hogan, or even worse, from Newkirk. But when Newkirk spoke to him, it wasn't what he expected.

"You know, you probably shouldn't have done that," he said seriously. "You can't just go thumping every complete tosser on sight, no matter how much he deserves it. You're going to have to learn to stop and think first, and _then_ thump him."

"It wasn't nice to hit him from behind, either," Carter added. "Next time, punch him on the nose. It's just more honest that way."

"Don't encourage him, Carter," said Hogan. "Did you get those flowers yet?"

"Me and LeBeau went out first thing this morning, Colonel. They're still down in the tunnel."

Hogan gave him a grin. "You any good at flower arranging?"

"I don't know, sir," replied Carter apprehensively. "I never did any."

"About time you learned, then." Hogan jerked his head towards the tunnel, and Carter, with great reluctance, took the hint. So did Newkirk; he gave Lucas a grin, and slouched off.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Lucas quietly. "That was a really dumb thing for me to do."

"That's two dumb things in one week, Lucas." Hogan leaned against the upright of the bunk. "One more, and I might have to take steps. Still, Schaffner had it coming."

"Colonel, it's not fair for the whole barracks to be punished," Lucas went on. "Don't you think I ought to go to the Kommandant and own up?"

"Not yet," said Hogan. "Let's get tomorrow over with first."

Late in the afternoon, Wentworth came in through the tunnel from his own barracks.

"I suppose this restriction to barracks is going to complicate things," he said.

"I don't see why it should," Hogan replied. "You and the others still go out as planned, through the emergency tunnel. LeBeau will come along, to show you the way, and bring you back afterwards."

"Colonel, I was hoping..." Wentworth broke off, embarrassed. "The thing is, sir, we hoped you might come as well. And the other fellows who have been helping."

Hogan's eyebrows went up. "You want us to be there?"

Wentworth smiled. "We're all in this war together, sir."

"That's true." Hogan considered. Getting ten men out of camp - six of whom were confined to barracks - wouldn't be easy. But he could hardly refuse the invitation; in fact he didn't want to. "Okay, Wentworth. We'll be honoured."

Wentworth hesitated, before speaking again. "If you're coming along, sir, I wonder if you'd be prepared to say a few words. It's usual for someone to make an address."

"Wouldn't that come better from you?" said Hogan, taken aback.

"Not after last year, sir. Granted, I have their respect now, but for the wrong reasons. You've always had it; I had to break someone's face to earn it. And you are the senior officer here. It doesn't have to be anything very formal, you know."

Hogan sighed. "Fine. If it's what you want."

He shook his head, after Wentworth had left. "How did I let myself get dragged into this?" he muttered. But he already knew the answer to that.


	4. Chapter 4

LeBeau's directions had been very clear, and Hogan had no trouble finding the milestone, even in the heavy darkness of a moonless pre-dawn. Accompanied by Lucas and MacDonald, he made his way between the trees, the last to leave Stalag 13, and hopefully the last to arrive, as long as Carter hadn't got himself and Davies lost _en route_.

Already murmurings of birdsong could be heard within the woods, with a light whisper of leaves stirred by the wind as counterpoint. The morning air was cold, and a thin mist lay in the hollows. It seemed as if the war was very far away. As they approached the strip of level ground, closely edged with old-growth forest, which was all that remained of the long-forgotten road, night began to give way to the soft cold light of early morning

Wentworth came to meet them. "Couldn't be better, Colonel," he said. "We're about ready to start."

"Good. Call the men to order," replied Hogan.

The lieutenant, standing next to Hogan in front of the milestone, waited until the men had formed up to one side, before he started the service.

"We have come here today to remember those who have given their lives for their comrades, for their countries, and for the highest cause, that all people in all nations may be granted the right to live their lives in peace and freedom."

After a few seconds, Davies played a single note, to give them the pitch for the one hymn they had allowed themselves; three verses of "Abide With Me", unaccompanied, and sung very softly. At least one voice - it had to be the tone-deaf Foster - was a long way off the tune. It had never been a favourite with Hogan, and he was slightly behind the rest as he tried to remember the words. Kinch, he noticed, was word-perfect, but Newkirk apparently had a crib sheet, and Carter was looking over his shoulder. Only LeBeau and Lucas didn't sing at all. LeBeau probably didn't know it at all, and Lucas was concentrating on maintaining his self-control.

In the quiet that followed, Hogan began to speak. "I didn't really prepare for this," he said. "But I know what this service is about. It's thirty-nine years today since Australian and New Zealand forces landed on the Gallipoli peninsula, as part of the campaign to take control of the Dardanelles. I probably don't need to tell any of you that it wasn't a successful campaign. In fact, it was a complete disaster. But I also know it wasn't through any lack of effort, bravery or determination on the part of the soldiers, that the campaign failed. They looked out for each other, they gave it everything they had, and they deserve to be remembered with honour."

He paused for a moment, and glanced at the men who he knew had the most to grieve over as a result of the present conflict: Lucas and MacDonald, Newkirk and LeBeau.

"Now we're fighting another war, in a different place, and by different rules. But there's one thing that hasn't changed. We need to be just as brave, and just as determined, as they were, no matter how hard it gets. Because we can't afford to lose this one. Whatever it costs - and the cost will be high - we have to win."

LeBeau closed his eyes, and for once MacDonald's long-unspoken grief showed clearly on his face. Newkirk was very still, and didn't take his eyes from the colonel. But Hogan wasn't sure if Lucas heard him at all.

They laid their flowers at the foot of the ancient milestone. The wreaths were untidy; wildflowers don't lend themselves to formal arrangement, even in the hands of a competent florist, which Carter was not. But he had done his best with them, and if they weren't perfect, the emotion they were meant to express was no less sincere.

After that, it was Lucas's turn to speak.

_They shall grow not old..._

Then there was nothing but the sounds of the waking forest, until Carter came forward, with his halting words of encouragement. Lucas seemed lost for a moment, then he raised his head, and met Carter's anxious gaze. He took a deep breath, and tried again.

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._

_At the going down of the sun, and in the morning_

_We will remember them._

Like the faintest of distant echoes, other voices took up the last words: _We will remember them_.

Davies commenced the Last Post, as the dawn light grew stronger. Despite his skill, and his best efforts, it didn't quite fit the instrument; yet the thin, almost vocal sound seemed exactly right for this place, at this time.

A minute of silence followed the final rising note. Hogan, moved far more than he had expected, kept an eye on his men. LeBeau had covered his face, unable for those few moments to hide the sorrow he normally kept to himself. Newkirk's eyebrows were drawn together; he bit his lower lip and put a hand on his little mate's shoulder, while Kinch watched over both of them like a brother. Carter glanced at them once or twice, deep concern on his face, but he stayed close to Lucas. Even Foster seemed affected by the atmosphere; he looked up at MacDonald with an expression approaching sympathy.

As Davies began to play again, to bring the service to a close, Lucas seemed to relax, as if some inner tension had been released. LeBeau drew himself up, in control of himself again, and looked up at Newkirk. He even managed a smile, to give assurance that all was well.

"Fall out, men," said Hogan quietly. "Okay, back to camp. Same drill - two or three at a time. Kinch, LeBeau, Lucas, you go first. Keep an eye on 'em, Kinch," he added in an undertone.

Gradually, the group dispersed, but Wentworth lingered by the old mile marker. Hogan joined him, and waited for him to speak.

"It went well," said Wentworth, after a while. "I owe you, Colonel."

"Maybe I owe you one, too," replied Hogan. "I think I really get what it's about, now." After a minute, he went on. "Who was it for you, Wentworth?"

"My father. He was part of the second wave at Gallipoli. Oh, he came home, all right, but..." He shook his head, and changed the subject. "It's a shame you're all confined to barracks, sir. We could have made quite a day of it."

"We could do that anyway. What say you guys come over and show the rest of us that game?"

"Two-up?" Wentworth stared at him. "Didn't think you'd risk it, sir. That's how it always starts."

Hogan grinned. "Haven't you worked it out yet? You should talk to Davies. It's not the game, Wentworth. It's how you play it."

He clapped a hand on Wentworth's shoulder, and they headed back to Stalag 13 in the pale clear light of the morning.

* * *

_"They shall grow not old...";__ from "For the Fallen", by Lawrence Binyon._


End file.
